I poked holes in the doll's face with a pin.I pulled off the doll's head and lookedinside: the doll's head was hollow.The doll's neck was a stub, I cutthe top of the stub off and looked inside:the doll's torso, too, was empty.

I lit the doll's hair with a lighterand it flared slightly and melted intoa hard, shiny, little black ball.I dug out the doll's eyes, theywere mounted in little plastic cupsthe better to tilt and swiveland that the lids might lift, or settle,or perch, drunkenly, half-open.When stepped on, the eyes breakwith a crunch, but the cups just bend,letting the eye shards fall out.

I buried the doll, and all the doll'slittle doll friends, in the park, nearthe water fountain, beside the jungle gym.I think I did what I did becauseI'm American, and because I'ma girl, and because I'm Korean,and because I'm adopted,and because I am not gettingadequate amounts of bran in my diet,and because I'm a boy, and becauseI'm dating a woman who cannot climax,and because I cannot climax,and because I am underpaid,and because my oily father onlyshowed my sister any affection,and because it felt really fucking good,and though it might sound sillyto most people, I did it becauseI hate dolls, and more to the point,I hate what dolls mean, what they need.